The wood creaked underfoot with every shift of weight, old planks complaining like they always did. The pub smelled of gin, sweat, and lies stale and familiar, a scent that clung to the back of your throat. Nothing new. Nothing you hadn't breathed in a hundred times before.

Tommy spoke to men who believed power sat easily on their shoulders. Men who talked too loud, laughed too sharp, and mistook confidence for control. One of them let his eyes linger on you, slow and assessing, like he was weighing something he had no right to touch. Your body reacted before your mind did a slight shiver crawling down your spine. Some looks never lose their edge. Some situations never become normal, no matter how often you stand in them.

You stayed where you were, behind Tommy, your back against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest. Still. Silent. Watching. You didn't speak, didn't move, didn't offer anything they could read and that was exactly what made you dangerous. Men like this never knew what to do with silence. It unsettled them.

Words were exchanged, promises made, lies wrapped neatly as agreements. When the deal was done, Tommy finally looked at you. Just a glance quick, sharp but loaded. The kind that said, I know you heard everything. As if there had ever been another possibility. Even when he told you to look away, to close your ears, he knew you never would.